George

Just a pointless journal/vent

I know how shelters work; I'm 17 now, and I've seen and heard enough to know how they work. They're going to kill him.

See, I do not like this person who own George, and I cleansed me hands of his dramatic affairs a long while ago, but I love this dog. George was a sweet old man, very cuddly and hilarious. Whenever he'd lay down he'd grunt like the old bat he was and would rest on top of me or with me whenever he had the chance. He had a bad habit of peeing and pooping though, so they had to get rid of them due to their inability to keep up with it. I wanted him. Desperately. I begged my mother many times and we had talked about taking him but my father would not have it. That weekend I plot how to break him down and get him on  board with adopting George.

But that Monday he was pooping blood. 

He's an old dog. This happens a lot. He was dying. SO I groveled to my mother, I made so many promises on taking good care of him until he died. I sobbed all the way to school, during my first two periods, I couldn't handle the thought of it. Yet she still said no, and they took him to a shelter that day. He's either dead, or waiting in the shelter to be put down. How terrible is that. No dog as sweet as him should die like that in my opinion. I wanted to love and spoil him shamelessly. 

Now I don't know what's become of him. 

Author's Note

I'm literally just venting.